


Admission

by AlexKingston



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Azran Legacy Spoilers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingston/pseuds/AlexKingston
Summary: Hershel and Randall finally have an honest conversation with each other.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Admission

It was almost one in the morning, and Randall couldn’t get to sleep. He tried turning over in the hotel bed, but somehow that was even more uncomfortable than before. Randall considered kicking off the covers again, but last time he did that, it got too cold, and he had pulled them back up. Instead, Randall laid on his back, eyes staring at the vast darkness of the ceiling. He could hear his heart pounding excitedly.

Randall took a moment to bask in that warm glow. Today had been excellent. It was the first stop in the lecture tour, and though Randall would never admit it out loud, he had been nervous. It was a surreal situation, plucked from his dreams. Standing on a stage, talking to a crowd about Akbadain alongside Hershel. 

At that thought, Randall turned his head to look at his companion. The only thing he could make out of the other bed was a vague dark shape. Hershel hadn’t moved this whole time, but Randall wasn’t convinced his friend was actually asleep. 

In a low whisper, Randall asked, “Are you still awake, Hershel?” 

“Yes.” Came the reply.

Having expected that Hershel would ignore him and try to sleep, Randall didn’t have a reply or topic of conversation ready. So he improvised. “I’m exhausted but not tired. Weird, huh?” 

“It’s not impossible. The human body is a strange thing, Randall.” For the first time that night, Randall heard shifting from the other side of the room, and even in the darkness, Randall could tell that the two of them were making eye contact. 

With that encouragement, Randall rambled on. “I never knew how much went into these types of events. We didn’t even physically do much, just gave the lecture and answered questions. It was the staff who was running around like chickens with their heads chopped off. And I knew you had a reputation, but they treated you like royalty. But it was so cool. I mean, it was obvious which people wanted to be there, and those who didn’t, but those who did were so fun to talk to.” 

Hershel didn’t continue the conversation. Randall could hardly blame him. It was just a string of meaningless words, observations that both of them had made earlier. Nothing engaging to contribute to. Randall turned back to look at the ceiling, trying to think of something else to say. Filling the silence with words wouldn’t do the trick, he wanted to get Hershel to talk as well. Then Randall thought of a question he had wanted to ask for a long time now. 

“Hershel, do you actually like archeology?”

Randall could hear the gears turning as Hershel thought of his answer. For whatever reason, Hershel’s tone was amused as he said, “One would assume so. It is what I teach for a living.” 

Annoyed but not surprised by the nonanswer, Randall resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That doesn’t actually answer my question. C’mon, Hersh, I want to hear it.” 

There was a long silence before Hershel cautiously asked, “...Randall, do you remember what I wanted to pursue before Akbadain?” 

Racking his brain, Randall tried to think back. Back to every time he had nagged Hershel about archeology, puzzles, and how this next adventure was going to be great. “No. I’m sorry.” Randall apologized quietly. 

“Don’t apologize.” Hershel assured, “I never told you. Or to be more accurate, I didn’t. I didn’t have something that I truly wanted to do.” At the end of the sentence, the mood had dropped into wistfulness and melancholy. 

Randall couldn’t help but wince. “I bet my pestering you didn’t help.”

“It really didn’t.” Hershel agreed, “I knew I didn’t like archeology to that extent then, and I wanted to find something that was ‘mine.’ A genuine passion that I could throw myself into like you could. Then we took our trip to Akbadain and well...” 

“Here we are.” Randall finished the thought. Again, those memories and feelings of what happened since then rose to consume. This was a familiar sensation for Randall, as it defined his life at this point. Almost unavoidable in every conversation. Except- “You know, Henry, Angela, and I have talked about what happened to death. We’ve never really talked about it, have we?” 

“I thought we had.” Hershel sounded genuinely confused, which surprised Randall. 

Still, he quickly recovered. “Well, yeah, we technically have, but not really. Like barely, just the I’m-not-dead-and-we’re-still-friends part. Oh! And the you’re-not-mad, just-disappointed-in-the-crimes-I-committed part.” 

“That seems to cover the main points.” Hershel insisted, “What more is there to discuss?”

“What more?” Randall could hear his volume rising despite his efforts otherwise, “You thought I was dead for eighteen years. I forgot everything about myself in the meantime. I committed acts of terror. I tried to bury the whole city with sand. I don’t understand you can act like nothing happened!”

“Is that the impression you get?” Hershel asked. He took a small breath and continued, his words precise and bittersweet. “I do not pretend those events did not transpire. It would be impossible to do so. It all affected me deeply. You know this, Randall.” 

Randall tried to brush it off, “Could have fooled me.” But now they were on the topic, he brought up another thing that bothered him. “I just don’t get why you’re not more mad at me. I know Angela says you blame yourself for what happened, but that’s ridiculous, everyone knows that stupid adventure was my idea.” 

“Randall. You’re wrong, you know.” Hershel objected, sounding more world-weary than he had any right to be. 

“How? How on earth am I wrong? There’s nothing you could have done.” Randall was fully prepared to be as stubborn as humanly possible on this point. He was not going to let Hershel take responsibility for things that were not his fault. Hershel was always pulling nonsense like this, fixing any and every problem he came across. Though he rarely overstepped any boundaries, Hershel tended to shoulder more than was necessary. From what Randall could tell, this trait had become more prominent in the time that he had been gone. So much time had gone by, nearly two decades. Two decades to ponder and ruminate about what had gone wrong. 

“I could have said no.” Hershel finally answered, voice pained. 

“What?”

Hershel explained, “I could have dug my heels into the ground and refused to help you. Remember that first door? It needed two people to open. Most of the puzzles there needed at least two people. If I had refused, you wouldn’t have made it that far. You never would have been in any danger. None of it would have happened. But I didn’t.” Hershel sighed, then admitted, “I wanted to go too.” 

Randall objected instantly, “That doesn’t mean it was your fault! It wasn’t your idea, everyone told me not to go, but I did it anyway.” When he thought about it, he could understand where Hershel was coming from. But that situation had so many ‘if only’s that everyone involved could pick up a handful and claim responsibility. 

“We did it anyway.” Hershel seemed to concede on the point. 

“... We did.” Randall agreed. “And here we are. I regret it, I really do. Along with the Masked Gentleman nonsense. I’m serving my sentence, trying to fix as much as I can. I know I’ve said it before, but… I’m sorry for everything.” Randall never counted the apologies he had made, but suspected the number lingered in the hundreds. He wondered who they were for. Randall was never absolved, his guilt still ate at him. Saying the words was the right thing to do, but they never seemed to do anything. 

“I forgive you,” Hershel said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m always here if you need me.” 

That was the truly unfair thing about Hershel, Randall thought. Coming from anyone else, those words would be mere lip service, the right thing to say to maintain the moral high ground. And maybe that was why Hershel spoke them, Randall didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt their sincerity. Hershel was honest, though you had to read between the lines. Thankfully Randall had read this book before and knew the general meanings behind the niceties. However, Randall didn’t have a response, but that didn’t seem to be necessary. 

He supposed that was the end of their conversation. Randall turned over, facing away from Hershel and closed his eyes and tried to drift off. Randall’s eyes were tired and appreciated the increased lack of stimulation, but his mind was still whirring. 

Hershel then abruptly broke the silence about ten minutes later. “Randall. There’s something I never told you.” Completely surprised, Randall flipped back to face Hershel. Whatever it was, it was probably important. For some reason, Hershel’s form was clearer this time, the man lying on his back, not looking at Randall. “About what happened with Descole and Bronev.”

“What?” This was not the topic Randall was expecting. Hershel hated talking about this, or Randall assumed so. After all, it wasn’t a pleasant topic for either of them, and Hershel never actively brought it up. 

“... Towards the end, I learned how Bronev became part of Targent.” Hershel’s voice was hesitant, slightly disbelieving that he was actually saying this. 

“I thought he founded it, or did I just assume that?” Randall asked, mind already whirling, wondering where on earth Hershel was going with this. He resisted the urge to go straight towards the outrageous conclusions, no matter how fun they may be. 

Hershel made a slight noise, but corrected Randall, “I don’t know where that conclusion came from, but that is not correct.” He then continued, “Targent forcibly brought him into their circle after learning of his research. When he was taken, he left behind his two sons.” 

“So Bronev had kids. Wait… give me a second…” Randall tried to think, but a moment later, Hershel gave a hint. 

“There’s a reason why Desmond Sycamore was a leading expert on the Azran.” It wasn’t really a hint, but giving the answer without it being exactly the answer. Randall suspected it was a teacher thing. But still, that would mean-

“You’re saying that Descole is Bronev’s kid?” Randall asked in surprise, then realized the implications of that information, “Wait. Didn’t Targent kill his family? That’s really messed up. Did Bronev-” 

“Indirectly.” Hershel promptly answered, “I’ve spoken to Bronev about this. It is no high praise, but he did not know who exactly he was harming when he gave the orders. Even if they weren’t related, it was a monstrous act.” Randall agreed with that conclusion, but that reminded him of something weird. That Hershel would even talk to Bronev. Randall barely knew who the guy was, but highly doubted he could get through a conversation without at least spitting in his face for nearly getting everyone killed. Then again, Hershel was cut from a different cloth than Randall. 

That didn’t change the facts. “Still… Bronev killed his own granddaughter. I’m surprised Descole didn’t try to actually kill him.” Randall knew his own personal experience with Descole didn’t mean he was an expert, but he had a pretty good idea of who the man was. Randall had been in that place too, though only after Descole had led him there. A man who was hurt by the world because of things that were and were not beyond his control. A man desperately latching onto the one thing that he believed would fix everything. A man who, if he saw that others got hurt in the meanwhile, he would smile.

Hershel offered his own perspective, “Descole had some measure of humanity left and a deeply buried moral compass.” 

Randall snorted, “Feels like he only had those just to ‘objectively’ be better than Targent. When the bar is that low, it doesn’t take much to step over it. In comparison, you were flying in the stratosphere.”

“You think too highly of me. Though I think there is some truth to what you say. Being superior to Targent in every way was part of his goal.” Hershel agreed, though his mind seemed to be somewhere slightly different at the moment. Randall then realized what it might be. 

“... so was that all you didn’t tell me? That Bronev and Descole are father and son? I mean, it’s interesting, but it doesn’t really… change anything.” Randall waited, his instinct was telling him that this wasn’t all that Hershel had been keeping. He wasn’t about to push the issue, though. 

Hershel gave a long sigh that Randall recognized as the sound of one preparing themselves for something unpleasant. “I wasn’t quite finished. I said that Bronev had two sons.” Hershel’s voice sounded a little bit further away, and Randall realized that Hershel was facing away from him now.

Randall’s stomach dropped as he processed. No matter the scenario, this wasn’t pleasant information. “Oh, god. The other son knows what happened and now wants revenge for his dad being arrested and brother being dead.” Randall blurted out the first idea that came to mind. Then the second thought, “Speaking of which, do you think Descole is really dead?” 

“To answer your question, no, I don’t think so. A body wasn’t found, and neither was the Bostonius. It’s very likely he got away. As for your guess, that’s incorrect.” Hershel responded. 

“Let me take another guess.” Randall took a moment to pick the most likely situation. “You tracked down the other son and are trying to figure out the right way to tell him about his awful family, or if you should even tell him at all.” 

“Still not quite right. The other son is aware of his heritage.” The correction that Hershel gave only confused Randall more. 

“Okay… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” He tried starting over with what he did know, “You know who the other Bronev kid is. You’ve kept that info under wraps, you’re trying to tell me who it is. But you make it sound like I should be able to figure it out… the only idea I can think of that fits the timeline is that’s it you, but that would be incred-”

“That’s right.” Hershel cut Randall off, confirming the outrageous theory. 

“Huh?” Randall’s reaction was automatic, and his mind wasn’t having an easy time processing. He was joking, he was just saying the wildest thing that had any basis in reality, Hershel wasn’t supposed to agree. 

But Hershel further clarified, “Biologically speaking, I am Leon Bronev’s younger son.” 

Randall spluttered, “What?!? But that- that would- you’re- you and- let me get this right. You and Descole are Bronev’s sons. Is that what you’re telling me?” 

“Yes.” Hershel simply answered. 

Randall knew Hershel wasn’t lying or joking. That would make even less sense. “I have a lot of questions. Man, this is hard to process. Let’s see… first, when and how did you find out?” 

Randall noticed that Hershel was still facing away from him, “Descole told me. Right before Bronev stabbed Aurora.” 

“Dramatic and the worst timing. Sounds like Descole to me.” Randall half-joked, then thought through the implications a little more. “Wait a minute. He knew the whole time? He knew that the guy he was fighting and kinda tried to finish off was his brother? That just… makes everything a bit worse now that I’m thinking about it.” 

“Don’t put too much consideration into our blood relation. Whatever kinship we had was superseded by his mission.” Hershel sounded tired and certain. Randall wondered how long Hershel mulled all this over to reach this conclusion. 

“Does anyone else know?” Randall asked, selfishly wondering where he stood. From Hershel’s nervousness bringing it up, Randall figured he hadn’t told many people, but Randall doubted he would be the first. 

“Luke, Emmy, my parents, Descole, and Bronev. Not many.” Hershel answered. Randall couldn’t help but be a bit happy that Hershel trusted him with this secret. Though speaking of who knew what when-

“Did Bronev know you were-” Randall began to ask, but Hershel answered before he could finish. 

“No, he didn’t. I don’t think it would have made a significant difference.” 

Randall figured that was true. “If you knew, would that have made a difference?”

“That’s a silly question. If things were different, would the events had played out differently? Of course.” Hershel tried to switch to a more lighthearted tone, but gave up halfway through. “How? I don’t know, and there’s no real point to guessing.” 

Randall agreed with that sentiment, but it didn’t stop him from considering it a little. “Still… you would have been Hershel Bronev. I can’t picture that at all.” 

“Actually, my birth name was something different.” Hershel continued before Randall could ask the obvious question, “No, I’m not telling you what it is because it is not my name. I don’t want to hear anyone using it, even in jest.” 

“Gotcha. Makes sense.” Randall agreed, though he was still a little curious. Then he remembered the circumstances that started this in the first place. “Still… it ended up being the three of you chasing after the Legacy. That’s a huge coincidence.”

Hershel gave an exasperated groan, “Not really. Descole chased it because of Bronev. Descole invited me for the last leg of the journey. It’s not as outlandish as you make it out to be.” Clearly, this wasn’t the first time that this thought process had been brought to Hershel’s attention. 

Then Randall made the mistake of further thinking about the chain of cause and effect. “You probably wouldn’t have been involved if it wasn’t for me. Wow. That’s a crazy thought. Makes you wonder about destiny, doesn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hershel was curt, “But in the end, I don’t take much stock in it.”

Still, Randall spoke his speculations, “Or it could be the Azran. Sounds like the stupidly complicated stuff they’d come up with. That’d be bonkers. No offense, but I’d be furious if my fall in Akbadain was part of some grand scheme for you to be the one to solve their final mysteries.”

Hershel didn’t raise his voice, but Randall couldn’t deny his irritation, “I highly doubt that’s the case. Those possibilities… I find them repulsive. They go against what I believe in. I refuse to think that archeology and the Azran were part of any sort of destiny or fated path.” 

Randall understood Hershel’s point, but he really did, but he was still a bit offended. “Do you really dislike archeology that much? That it’s not part of your path in life? I mean, I was trying to get the answer to that question earlier. I just want an honest answer.” 

There was a pause and a shuffling. Hershel was on his back now, and Randall could hear him breathing. The slow, careful breaths one makes when trying to calm down. After another short silence, Hershel finally answered, “... I don’t hate it. I never did. I do enjoy it, but to say I personally like it wouldn’t be accurate. When I first started, I- it was- it was my way of keeping you with me. You loved it so much, the littlest things would remind me of you. Walking the path you would have taken, I could pretend you were walking it with me.” 

That hurt for Randall to hear. Not the part about archeology, he already knew that. He hated knowing how he had hurt people with his selfish actions. He hated knowing how much Hershel had suffered. He hated that Hershel refused to let him have sole responsibility. There was nothing Randall could do with his hate. He couldn’t hold inside and let it rot, couldn’t thrust it out into the world, just watch it slowly seep away with time. “And now?” Randall asked, hopefully. 

“I have been walking this path a long time now. I’ve learned and grown and met people who are very dear to me. It was the right choice. That I’m sure of.” Hershel assured. 

“You don’t regret it? You’re happy?” Randall had to be sure. 

“Not in the slightest. It took a long time, but yes. I’m still uncertain about what’s ahead, but I’m happy.”

All Randall could say without emotion completely overwhelming him was, “I’m so glad to hear that, Hershel.” 


End file.
